The Things We've Learned
by Glenn and Katina Rentholen
Summary: Set in the time-frame before Colossus came to Xaviers school. Peter Rasputin meets an interesting, though depressed young woman. He becomes a little bit obsessed, and does something that Peter Rasputin would NEVER do normally. Chapter four up!
1. Pascha

The Things We've Discovered  
Katina Ashton  
Digitalkatgrrl@hotmail.com  
  
  
  
  
Disclaimer: I'm just a fan. I don't own the Characters of X-Men, but only the ones that you other fan's don't recognise.  
Obvoisly, The fic is an origional thought from me (though it might have been done before.) please, as always  
Read and Review. None of the Authors on this site will get any better if you don't. Please, Don't consider it a   
Privelege that you review, but a right that the Author has to know what they are doing right/wrong so that   
They can improve. Thank you. ~Kat  
  
  
  
  
  
The Things We've Discovered  
Train  
  
  
  
'I've never thought about the way it would be for an American to be any-place other than America. Obviously, I am not American. So of course, the day I saw the girl sitting in her seat on the train, it did not occur to me to use English. After all. When in Russia... Do you not speak, Russian?'  
  
  
"....Are you alright?.." The girl was crying. Peter grimaced inwardly. He did not like seeing people with such harsh emotions showing on the outside. And she looked young. Possibly younger than he.   
  
The girl blinked, and looked up at him, and tilted her head. She rubbed her eyes and snuffled back her draining tears. Then she took a deep breath. Obviously, thinking for a moment, she reached back into her mind, and managed to say in a very rough Russian, to return, " I am not knowing Russian."  
  
Peter was surprised for a moment, and in his rough english, asked, " I asked if you were alright?" he repeated. His accent was deep run, and was obviously local, and or, someplace close to the local.   
  
She looked surprised, " I'm fine." she returned. Obviously, she was not Russian. The accent was more than enough to give that away. Unfourtunatly, Peter could more than tell that she was lying.   
  
He sat down on the seat in front of her, facing her, and leaned forward on his knees. " Ah. Do all Americans cry when nothing is wrong?"  
  
" You don't know that I'm American. For all you know I could be from china." the girl retorted sharply.  
  
" Forgive me. You have an american tone."  
  
the girl said nothing for a moment, " Worry about someone else's feelings." she said sourly. She turned her face back to the snow on the outside of the train, sticking to the window, and making patterns of a wintery tone on the glass.   
  
Peter was a little bit stung by the remark, but shrugged, and nodded, and then got up and left.  
  
Once he was gone, the girl sighed, and slid down in her seat, hugging her blue coat tightly around her. This Russian winter sucked. She wasn't fond of cold. She was fond of this place either. This train, this country..... Anything would be better than going to live with the few relatives she had left. Anything.  
  
Well. Except being sent to Russia for another reason. Like living alone.   
  
'Now that,' She thought, 'Would suck.'  
  
Peter sat down in a seat not to far in the back of the car of the train. He sat there, deep in thought. Hugging his sketch-book to himself, he thought for a moment, watching the back of the girls' head untill she sank deep into the seat. He withdrew a pencil from deep in his coat pocket, and began to doodle.. eyes were the first thing to emerge. Male eyes. They were to... dark.. to be a womans. Or at least in his mind's eye, they were.   
  
An image implanted it's self into his mind, very suddenly, and almost painfully. A boy-a teenager- of about average height, with those dark eyes. He wore an almost sinister look, and was standing over the body of a girl.. or at least, a female, girl or woman, it could not be seen.   
  
Peter jerked upright from his thoughts, and shook his head, trying to force the image out of his mind. That was not something he would ever waste his artistic talents on! He frowned, and looked down at his sketch. Only the eyes were there.   
  
He crossed them through, and wadded up the paper, cramming it between the seat of the Train, and the wall.   
  
  
  
'Okay, so I admit, that girl.. she was intruiging. Well. Not so much intruiging. But wouldn't you want to know why an American was coming to the Motherland? I did. And did I ever. I wanted to know why she was crying, and why she was being so rough about me thinking about her feelings. '  
  
'I won't lie. I also wanted to know her name.'  
  
  
  
Peter stood up and walked over to where the girl was sitting again. She didn't bother looking up. " What?" she demanded softly, " You couldn't find someone else to give a damn about?"   
  
Peter sat down, ignoring the comment, and shook his head, " I'm curious."  
  
" My name is Shaira. I'm probably not old enough for you, and my husband is big and mean." she was obviously lying.   
  
'Obviously, peopla have often asked her such things?' Peter figured.  
  
" I'm Peter."  
  
The girl looked up, narrowing her eyes. She obviously did not believe that all he wanted to do was come over and introduce himself.   
  
Peter leaned backagainst the seat, and looked out the window. " Beautiful, isn't it?" he asked. He didn't watch her reaction, but knew that she was looking right at him, with peircing gaze that probably would have frozen his elder brother in his steps. It chilled Peter.  
  
" about as beautiful as a frozen wasteland can be. It's too damn cold here for my tastes."  
  
Obviously the girl had no problem cursing in front of him, though he had figured that she was younger than he. Had any of his younger female cousins said something like that to his brother, or to himself, they would have been punished therily by their parents, or aunts and uncles for such a disrespect.  
  
" We do not think of it as a 'frozen wasteland here.' Peter used her own words, " We think of it as home."  
  
The girls gaze grew colder for a moment, like the snow and wind outside, and then turned away from the Russian boy. she was not looking at the window now. Her gaze was on the cloth cover seat of the train. " Yeah. Home it is then."  
  
Nothing was said for a few moments. " My name's not really Shaira."  
  
Peter had known this from the orgional tone of the girls voice when she had 'introduced' herself. " Mine really is Peter Rasputin." he replied calmly.   
  
the girl nodded, " Interesting name." she said softly, and then sighed, " I'm Pascha."  
  
Peter arched an eyebrow, " Interesting name yourself."   
  
The girl shrugged.  
  
" No last name?"  
  
Nothing.   
  
" Ok. Pascha it is."  
  
The girl nodded once, and closed her eyes, laying her head against the cold window. She took a deep breath, and let it out again, letting it turn to frost against the pane. She didn't say anything for a while. And then, " Where do you live?"  
  
" Here."  
  
" Obviously."  
  
Peter shrugged, " we move around Russia alot sometimes. My family and I." he explained loosely. He fingered his cheap sketch-book, and thought about something that he would have been able to draw. The girl standing in the middle of the snow. Looking happy instead of cranky like she seemed now. "Where is home for you?"  
  
" Same I guess. I'm moving here to be with my Uncle and his son." Pascha did not open her eyes to reply. Peter still didn't know what color they were.  
  
" Where does your uncle live?"  
  
Pascha grimaced, and opened her eyes, reaching into the blue and green backpack that was on the floor between her legs. She opened up the front pocket, and pulled out a peice of paper. " I can't read it. I'm just suposed to look for the sign that looks like this at the next stop." The girl handed Peter the half crumpled paper with Russian lettering on it.   
  
"Moscow." Peter read easily. " I know where that is. My family is not to far from there at the moment."  
  
Pascha took the paper from Peter, and shrugged, " I don't know if I am staying in the city, or outside of it. My Uncle never told me." she admitted. Then she thought about what Peter had said, " your family is already there? Why aren't you?"  
  
Peter shrugged, " I had to take care of some things. My brother is in the next car."  
  
To this, the girl said nothing.   
  
It was only now that Peter took note of what she looked like.   
  
Pascha was clad in jeans, and a longish overcoat that covered whatever she might have been wearing other than the jeans. Her eyes were Brown, and her hair was deep red. Her skin was tanned, and smooth. Something that Peter could not help but notice. He blushed when he realised that he was staring at her, and that she was looking him right in the face as he exsamined her.   
  
The girl pulled her coat around herself tighter, as though she was suddenly uncomfortable.   
  
Peter jerked his eyes away.   
  
the rest of the way to Moscow, there were no words exchanged between the two of them.  
  
In Moscow, at the platform, Peter reached a hand up to the girl to help her off the train. She didn't take it. Pascha got off the train by her own means, and jumped the last step. she looked at him, and shouldered her bag.   
  
Peter's brother spoke to him from the steps of the train, making him look away from the unusual female. When he looked back, she was gone from sight.   
  
  
'Such a strange girl. But I couldn't keep my mind off her for the next two weeks. It wasn't untill I went to an underground club in Moscow alone two weeks and three days later -yes I counted-, that I thought about her again. When I saw her out in the middle of the raging dancefloor, swaying to the Throbbing Russian Bass. She looked at least a little bit more happy. But even as a guy, I can tell when something is different about a girl. There is something in the way she moves, or smiles-or in her case, doesn't smile.'  
  
  
  
  
authors note: I'm a collosus fan.. Therefore, I can't help myself. Not very good for a first chapter, but I hope you guys enjoyed it anyhow. Please, review. I need the reviews to improve.. I haven't written seriously in a long time, and need to get back in the groove. ~Kat 


	2. Clubbing

The Things We've Discovered  
Katina Ashton  
Digitalkatgrrl@hotmail.com  
  
  
  
  
Disclaimer: I'm just a fan. I don't own the Characters of X-Men, but only the ones that you other fan's don't recognise.  
Obvoisly, The fic is an origional thought from me (though it might have been done before.) please, as always  
Read and Review. None of the Authors on this site will get any better if you don't. Please, Don't consider it a   
Privelege that you review, but a right that the Author has to know what they are doing right/wrong so that   
They can improve. Thank you. ~Kat  
  
  
  
  
  
The Things We've Discovered  
Clubbing  
  
  
  
'Such a strange girl. But I couldn't keep my mind off her for the next two weeks. It wasn't untill I went to an underground club in Moscow alone two weeks and three days later -yes I counted-, that I thought about her again. When I saw her out in the middle of the raging dancefloor, swaying to the Throbbing Russian Bass. She looked at least a little bit more happy. But even as a guy, I can tell when something is different about a girl. There is something in the way she moves, or smiles-or in her case, doesn't smile.'  
  
  
Peter made his way over nearer to the young woman as she swayed back and forth on the dance floor. What had she said her name was again? Pascha..  
  
'Beautiful name.' Peter thought absently. Before he knew it, the boy found himself dancing withing close range of the girl. His tall build and athletic frame were not hard to distinguish among other clubbers. Pascha saw him almost immedietly. She stopped dancing, and just watched him for a moment.  
  
The girl didn't move. Her hair was pulled back by criss crossed black glitter bobby pins. She'd cut it since the last time Peter had seen her, when it had been at least shoulder length. not it was barely to her chin, and cropped higher in the back in layers. She was wearing a pair of jeans and a long loose top.   
  
Peter walked up to her. Amid the swarming mass of teens, he grinned, and looked down at her. In his thick accented english, he said: " We meet again, Miss Pascha."  
  
She pursed her lips, " Hello, Peter."  
  
Peter did not eny the leap of joy that he felt inside when he realised that the girl recognised his face, and on top of that, remembered his name. He blushed a little bit, but inwardly knew that the blush might be mistaken for the rising heat of the bodies crammed into the club. He mocked a bow, " Dance with me?" he inquired politly.  
  
Pascha narrowed her eyes a little bit, and then examined him. " Yes... Dance.." she murmured softly.   
  
In less than a few moments, the two of them were within close proxmity of each other, both swaying and jerking to the trance-ish music that blared from the DJ above them. In the Minutes that they danced, it felt like an eternity.  
  
Peter never saw her smile once during the time they danced to the loud music. he wasn't sure if he liked this or not. On one hand, the lack of smiling, made her more mysterious than any other girl he had ever met. On the other hand, however, the lack of smile of humor also made him worry. It made him wonder if she had'd a hard life like so many of his friends and family.   
  
Like himself.  
  
Pascha stopped moving after a long while. she was no longer dancing. She was gripping her side in pain.   
  
the red-haired girl fell to the floor. Her breathing was labored and hard. Painful from the look on her face. Peter immedietly dropped to her side, and put his hand on her shoulder, " Pascha.. Pascha! are you ok?"  
  
".. ne.. ed air.." The brown eyes teared up.   
  
Peter grabbed up the girl, and shoved his way through the crowd, his mind set on getting a Medic. the girl stared up at him through painfiilled, though surprised, eyes. She Gripped his shirt with one hand.  
  
" I need a medic!" Peter shouted to the man behind the drink bar. " She's sick!" he said in Russian.  
  
Pascha grimaced. She didn't know what Peter was saying, but she was almost positive that he was asking for something like 911. she shook her head, and with all the air she had in her, made her wishes clear" No doctor." she wheezed, " no Doctor!"  
  
Peter froze, " you're not sane!" he said, " you are in pain, you need medical attention. You're delusional."  
  
Pascha gripped his shirt tighter, " please." she wheezed, " Y.. you... "  
  
" Hush you stubborn american." Peter said bluntly, " you are going to see a doctor."  
  
"n..no.." Pascha trembled in the boys arms. She was obviously terrified of the thought of seeing a Doctor, though the boy couldn't fathom why. He looked from the brown eyes, back to the man behind he bar, and then made a sound only describable as a growl, before storming out of the throbbing night club, and out into the cold night.   
  
Pascha had seemed to have calmed down, but her breathing was still rattling, and forced. She looked up at him, and he refused to let himself look at her.   
  
"put me down."  
  
Peter refused for a moment, but the second that he glanced down into her face, he was forced to let her down to the ground, feet first. The girl crumpled for a moment, and then steadied herself. Peter refused to let loose of her copleatly for fear of her falling.   
  
Pascha stopped moving for a moment, and then took a deep breath, finally able to breath again. She let her hand go from Peter's shoulder, and stood a little straighter. The pain wasn't compleatly gone, but it was leaving quickly.  
  
" No reason to call a doctor.. It comes and it goes.." she said softly. She almost seemed ahamed of it.   
  
Peter examined her up and down again, and found himself blushing deeply as he realised how attractive she was, though her clothes were loose and left alot to the imagionation. He supposed that might have been the problem.   
  
Luckily, Pascha was not looking Peter over, or she might have noticed.  
  
The girl turned hre back to the boy, and sighed, " thank you. Goodnight." she started to walk away.  
  
Peter shook his head. " what? Where are you goin'c?"  
  
Pascha turned her head, half amused at the Russian accent, " I am 'goin'c' home." she said, immitating his tone the best she could. Then she walked into the alley, and dissapeared behind a corner.  
  
Peter groaned, " are all girls this... confusing?" he muttered in Russian. He sighed, and suddenly got the mental image of her looking over her shulder at him. He shuddered, and went back into the club to get his mind off her.   
  
Upon re-entering the club, he was confronted by the Bar-keep. " Piotre." he said in a thick accent, " She is troubl'. 'shu Stay Avay vrom 'er."  
  
Peter arched a brow, " trouble?"  
  
" Sen' her 'ere vrom Amerika. Her Uncle and Aunt keep 'er. She's not... " the keep hesiated, " normal."  
  
If the man behind the bar, who had always been nameless to Peter, had known about Peter's own abnormalities, he might not have been so quick to say something like he did about the American girl. Peter, however, nodded, and made his own exit, suddenly eager to know more about Pascha.   
  
He walked out into the back alley again, and looked around. Following the girl's lead, he turned past the corner she had, and began to try and guess his way from there.   
  
'It shouldn't be too hard to find and american in Russia.' he thought. It made sense to him.   
  
Pretty soon, however, he found just how wrong he was. It was next to impossible to find out which way the girl had gone in the maze of Moscow, and especially in the part that he was in.   
  
  
  
  
'I wish I had at least followed her. Not that it mattered. I saw her again. time and time again. At school, at the club, on the streets. Eerytime I saw her, though, and she saw me, she avoided me. She never spoke to me. She never smiled at me. She always looked at me with those brown eyes that seemed to go on forever. She was one of those girls that you can't get out of your mind. And then she'd leave. I don't know if she was scared of me, or if she was scared of what I might find out about her. Ever since the guy at the club told me she wasn't normal, I couldn't sotsp thinking about how maybe she was like me in some way. Maybe not.. like.. me.. but a 'mutant' as so many people call it. But the night I saw her walking towards the alley back to the club.. I don't know what came over me. Something inside of me just.. stopped working. 'Snapped' I think Flea calls it. I felt like she thought she was too good for me. And there she was.. so beautiful. So helpless. '  
  
'Mine.'  
  
  
  
  
  
Authors note: No reviews, but that's ok. I guess another chapter woldn't be bad right? LOL. I guess I have it in the wrong part of FFN. It's not really set in the Evo-type, so much as how Piotre was protrayed in the x-men 2 novel. Silent, artistic. BTW: If you're wondering why in the world I wanted this pre-evo.. It's because I think that anyone who is as good natured as he is portrayed in the novel has to have somethin bad in the past, and no matter how much of a mutant he might be.. he's still human. Yeah. anyhow, please review. ~Kat 


	3. Behind the Club

The Things We've Discovered  
Katina Ashton  
Digitalkatgrrl@hotmail.com  
  
  
  
  
Disclaimer: I'm just a fan. I don't own the Characters of X-Men, but only the ones that you other fan's don't recognise.  
Obvoisly, The fic is an origional thought from me (though it might have been done before.) please, as always  
Read and Review. None of the Authors on this site will get any better if you don't. Please, Don't consider it a   
Privelege that you review, but a right that the Author has to know what they are doing right/wrong so that   
They can improve. Thank you. ~Kat  
  
  
  
  
  
The Things We've Discovered  
The Mistake  
  
  
  
  
'I wish I had at least followed her. Not that it mattered. I saw her again. time and time again. At school, at the club, on the streets. Eerytime I saw her, though, and she saw me, she avoided me. She never spoke to me. She never smiled at me. She always looked at me with those brown eyes that seemed to go on forever. She was one of those girls that you can't get out of your mind. And then she'd leave. I don't know if she was scared of me, or if she was scared of what I might find out about her. Ever since the guy at the club told me she wasn't normal, I couldn't stop thinking about how maybe she was like me in some way. Maybe not.. like.. me.. but a 'mutant' as so many people call it. But the night I saw her walking towards the alley back to the club.. I don't know what came over me. Something inside of me just.. stopped working. 'Snapped' I think Flea calls it. I felt like she thought she was too good for me. And there she was.. so beautiful. So helpless. '  
  
'Mine.'  
  
  
  
  
  
Pascha felt the hand on her back before she ever heard Peter behind her. She flinched, and jumped, turning around, and half glaring at the boy standing before her. " You again! Do you follow me everywhere? are you stalking me?!" she demanded bitterly.  
  
Peter blinked. He looked at her, standing there, wearing the same outfit she'd been wearing the first night he'd seen her here. This only made Peter more blind to what he was really doing. He pushed her up against the brick wall of the building, and stared at her. He said something in Russian that Pascha didn't recognise. She was sure that she didn't want to.  
  
She stared at him in horror, as he loomed over her, looking almost like a true-to-life monster in the pale light that came from the streets. He had not allowed himself to become his alter self, but he still looked threatening, frightening.  
  
The look in his eyes suddenly alarmed Pascha to what he wanted, and she took a deep breath to scream.   
  
Peter, seeing what she was doing, clamped his hand over her mouth, and proceeded. He began what would soon become what he would deem his worst sin. And later, his worst nightmare.   
  
He yanked off Pascha's shirt, exposing her to the air. She was wearing a plain white cotton bra. The girl turned her head away from Peter, still struggling against him, but stoon gave up as she found that he was stronger than she. She stopped moving, making this act easier for Peter, who had seemingly lost his mind.   
  
He had her on the ground, when eh looked at her face during the act. He was already inside of her, killing her emotions off one by one, untill the only one left was pain. She was crying.  
  
It was only then that Peter realised what he was doing. He froze, there on top of the girl who had been avoiding him all this time. She was crying, her eyes half shut, and her mouth clentch in pain.  
  
The tears ran down her face like rivers that he had not seen before. He stopped, and stared, and then began to cry himself.   
  
Peter yanked himself away from her, and stumbled back on the cold ground. He stared at the girl as she laid there, how he had positioned her, her legs spread.. she'd be bruised.. and injured.. mentally, for the rest of her life. And all because he couldn't stop himself.  
  
Staring in Horror, Peter pulled his pants back up. Stammering in Russian, he tried to think of something, anything at all that would be acceptable as an apology. At this point, there was none. He knew it.  
  
Peter crab crawled backwards, and into the club wall. The 'thumthum' of the music inside was the only thing that filled his head. It made him feel as though he were going to explode.   
  
He wanted to scream. He would have sold his soul to be able to turn back time and stop himself. Talk sense into himself.  
  
The girl layed there on the ground, breathing, shivering. She was so cold.   
  
Her breathing was raspy. She sounded like she had in the club the night he had called her not sane. Peter rolled to his knees, and looked at her, crawling towards her like a child might towards a sleeping animal.  
  
she was bloody. He could smell the blood and the fluids on her. On himself.  
  
When Peter was close enough to see her face, he saw the contortion of pain and shame.  
  
'What have I done?' he thought, enraged at himself, 'What have I done?'  
  
  
  
'I didn't know what to do. I had never, and have never since, ever let myself go like that. Never. Had someone ever done this act to one of my sisters.. well.. let us just say: They wouldn't be able to testify for innocence. End Story. I'll never forgive myself for what I did. I'll never forget how much pain I caused on someone else. I never let my strength better me out in a fight. I never use it to hurt people who don't deserve it. My powers are meant to help people. To protect them.  
  
'I can't help but think, "what if?"  
  
'What if I had been in control?... What if I had stopped watching her?... What if I had listened to the guy in the bar?.. what if.  
  
'What if..  
  
'What if...  
  
'She was so beautiful...'  
  
  
  
Authors note: Woah! thanks for the nice reviews! I honestly never could see Collossus as a bad guy, but I could see him having a deep dark secret. BTW: To Lady trunks: Pascha is really not an important character, as you'll find out later on, however, she was needed to make my fic.. heh.. couldn't do this with someone like.. Rouge. LOL. Yeah.. I can see that... that would be interesting. She'd kick his ass... heheh.. AGK! stop it Zoom! *Hits muse* ~Kat 


	4. Thoughts from a Boy

The Things We've Discovered  
  
Katina Ashton  
  
Digitalkatgrrl@hotmail.com  
  
Disclaimer: I'm just a fan. I don't own the Characters of X-Men, but only the   
  
ones that you other fan's don't recognise.  
  
Obvoisly, The fic is an origional thought from me (though it might have been   
  
done before.) please, as always  
  
Read and Review. None of the Authors on this site will get any better if you   
  
don't. Please, Don't consider it a   
  
Privelege that you review, but a right that the Author has to know what they are   
  
doing right/wrong so that   
  
They can improve. Thank you. ~Kat  
  
The Things We've Discovered  
  
Thoughts from a Pained Boy  
  
'I didn't know what to do. I had never, and have never since, ever let myself go   
  
like that. Never. Had someone ever done this act to one of my sisters.. well..   
  
let us just say: They wouldn't be able to testify for innocence. End Story. I'll   
  
never forgive myself for what I did. I'll never forget how much pain I caused on   
  
someone else. I never let my strength better me out in a fight. I never use it   
  
to hurt people who don't deserve it. My powers are meant to help people. To   
  
protect them.  
  
'I can't help but think, "what if?"  
  
'What if I had been in control?... What if I had stopped watching her?... What   
  
if I had listened to the guy in the bar?.. what if.  
  
'What if..  
  
'What if...  
  
'She was so beautiful...'  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A part of Peter wanted not to admit what he had done... The deep dark part of this, however, wanted nothing more than to do it again.  
  
But as Peter sat in the darkness in the alleyway, all he could manage to do was cry, staring blankly at the girl who he had just raped. She stared at him with wide, pain filled eyes.  
  
"I'm so sorry.." he whimpered, trembling.   
  
He'd hurt her so badly.  
  
He had to make it right.  
  
Curbing his feelings for the moment, Peter moved to the girl, and covered her with his coat. He picked her up, gently as he could., allowing now his strength to work for the girl and not his own sick fantasies.   
  
He carried her down the alleyway and to the street, and managed to stop a cab.   
  
Years later, he would wonder if what he had done was the right thing. If he had left her in the Alley, she certainly would have died. Whereas this--  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Two months later, he stood in front of the club. The building was shaking much as it had the night he had seen her. The Russian cold blew down his neck, making the hairs prickle.   
  
The girl, much to his surprise, did not press charges. She lied. For what reason, Peter would never know, but she told the authorities that Peter turned himself in to, that she had gone along willingly with what had happened, despite what the boy believed.   
  
With whatever strange turn of fate, Peter was allowed free of his horrid crime, and walked te streets freely tonight because of the forgivness of that one girl.  
  
Strange: She had not even told him how much she must have hated him for what he had done. and Peter was CERTAIN that she must have hated him.  
  
But when he enteresd the club, these things were forgotten for the moment. The rush of hot air, the smell of hot bodies against each other, movement, sounds, and drink, fell over Peter like a waterfall crashing against rocks.   
  
And despite what had happened, his eyes fell on the person right in front of him.  
  
Dancing as though there was no tomorrow, and nothing wrong at all, was Pascha. Her hair was flying all over the place as she danced, and there was a smile on her face for a change.   
  
'God,' Peter thought, 'She's so beautiful.'  
  
Now, the darkest demons that exsisted in him shifted, and tried to get him to do the evil that he had done before, but Peter fought it. He moved up near her to watch, and nothing more.  
  
She spotted him, and with a smile that shocked Peter like a lightning bolt, walked over to him.  
  
" Well hello!" she shouted over the music.  
  
He didn't say anything. Surely she knew who he was? He was the one who had taken from her without her permission.. And of all things he had stolen, it had not been something that he would have been able to give back.  
  
" Are you still thinking about what happened then? Not talking to me?" she asked. She looked so alien in the surroundings, with her cheerfulness.  
  
" how can you not hate me..." asked Peter, staring at her, and no longer moving, though she was.  
  
The girl stopped moving, and looked up at him. He was so much taller, so much more powerful than she was. It had already been proven. and yet she held no ill will against him. Or so Peter thought.  
  
Paschas face grew dark when she looked up at him in the eyes. they were still for the moment, the only two in the throbbing pulse of club life around them.   
  
"I do hate you." she said sharply.   
  
Somehow, Peter felt relieved. The girl must have seen the look of such on his face, because she sighed in defeate, and looked to the side without moving her head, " Look.." she started, " I can say I forgive you... because I do.. But you wouldn't dare believe that would you? And why's that?"  
  
Peter hesitated, " I.. Ah.." he stammered.  
  
" Do you feel guilty about it? People who do things like that out of lust dont feel guilt, so surely you dont feel remorse, right?" Pascha continued.  
  
" You are very strange girl." Peter managed.  
  
She shook her head, and looked up at him again, "I suppose that if I were your typical person, I could have just let you go to jail for what you did." she paused and took a deep breath, " But I'm not Typical. And as strange as it sounds, I hate you for what you did, but I know that you feel remorse for it, and that you suffered -in a different way albeit- as well." she looked from side to side then at him again, " I forgive you because I know that you are changed from knowing that you did wrong."  
  
Peter just stared at her as though she were insane. "You are VERY strange girl." he repeated.  
  
Pascha shrugged, and moved from him, dancing once more to the life pulse of Russian youth culture, and leaving Peter to stand where he was. alone once more in a sea of unlonly people.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
'I suppose the only reason that I am the way I am now.. is because of that girl.. She really had such a beautiful name. I never saw her after that. I think that the man at the bar told me that she went back to American or something of that nature.   
  
'But I never saw her again, though I kept my eye open for her, even after I came to America.   
  
'But like the Angels form God, She was gone as quickly as she came, and left behind much more than what I had to start with.   
  
'So my constitution is strong. My right and wrong is black and white. I know what things should happen, and should not, and I know how to forgive.   
  
'don't get me wrong though, I think about things just like other people. I think about what I could have gotten away with, and still have been the bad guy. I could --  
  
'It doesn't matter. Rouge is waiting for me behind the gym. Maybe we'll get some decent time together. '  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Authors note: I'm finally done.. This was a crappy ending, and I need to do something about it, but I suppose this is better than just not making an ending for it. OK: The thing about the girl forgiving him. I wouldn't have forgiven him, but obviously he knew that she was insane too. So like.. No people teling me how unrealistic I am please. I know about the real world. Believe me. ~Kat 


End file.
